Oregon fears heroin is tempting more kids

FACTBOX

Cathy Auer woke up late that Saturday morning in March. The
house seemed quiet, so she padded down the hall to check on
her youngest son, a freshman at Milwaukie High School, and
opened his door to a horrifying scene: His slight,
15-year-old frame crumpled like a dead body. His skin gray.
Saliva seeping from his mouth and nose. Purple smudges
around his lips.

She tried to sit him up, but his slack body was too heavy.
She cursed. She yelled for her boyfriend to call 9-1-1.

Like a lot of people who die from heroin overdoses, Johnny
Auer misgauged his tolerance. But unlike an 18-year-old Reed
College student who overdosed in April -- and the more than
100 Oregonians expected to die this year -- Johnny Auer
survived.

In the wake of Oregon's crackdown on methamphetamine,
police say, heroin has become a cheaper, more plentiful
alternative, especially for kids tempted to venture beyond
marijuana and alcohol.

One dose costs as little as $15.

It's hard to say where this resurgence of heroin will
lead. Heroin deaths remain far below the highs of the late
1990s, but the trends are ominous. Heroin used alone or in
combination with other drugs now kills more Oregonians than
meth and cocaine combined. Last year, 115 people died from
heroin overdoses, up 29 percent from the year before.

State medical examiner Dr. Karen Gunson expects the
"very alarming" number of heroin deaths to
continue to rise this year. Police and educators warn
parents that vulnerable kids, kids who are withdrawing from
sports or school or families, kids who are starting to lie
or steal -- kids like Johnny -- could be falling into a
heroin habit.

Johnny first tried heroin in the eighth grade.

"What the heck"

Early in middle school, Johnny competed in three sports. He
hung out with friends, got good grades and tried pot. He
drank some on the weekends but says it made him sick.

Then a friend told him about trying heroin at an
eighth-grade party. It was good, he told Johnny, who had
started smoking marijuana daily. You should try it. A couple
of days later, the two eighth-graders met up at Ardenwald
Elementary School, near Johnny's house in Milwaukie.

His friend brought heroin.

Johnny says he didn't think twice. Not about his dad.
Not about his sister, though both have fought drug problems.

"Just what the heck, you know?"

Ducking down some basement steps outside the school, his
friend pulled a ball of black tar heroin from a tiny
balloon. They burned it on a piece of tinfoil and inhaled
the smoke through small straws.

For Johnny, heroin did what getting high always had, took
him away from problems. For a week, Johnny smoked whenever
his friend had the drug. Soon, he started wanting it
everyday.

A year of deceit

Johnny, now a waifish 15-year-old with a charmer's
grin, says he was hooked within two weeks. "I
didn't want to get addicted," Johnny says. "I
promised myself I wouldn't."

He first bought on his own after two girls at school asked
whether they could buy pot through him.

"I jacked 'em for $20," he said.

As the months fell away, Johnny starting injecting heroin to
get a stronger high and fell into a quick spiral of
addiction, theft and deceit.

He met dealers at a burrito joint by his house, at Clackamas
Town Center, behind the Safeway. Police believe the same
dealers who sold to Johnny and his friend also sold heroin
in Gladstone, Clackamas, Happy Valley and Oregon City.

Cathy Auer began noticing her son getting pale. Always small
at 5 feet 2 and 115 pounds, Johnny started losing weight. He
disappeared into the bathroom for 20 minutes at a time.
Money vanished from his sister's wallet.

One day in November, Auer, who works in a medical billing
office, and her then-boyfriend decided something was wrong.
They barged into the bathroom and found Johnny, at that time
a scant 85 pounds, shooting up.

Auer was shocked.

"I didn't even think heroin would be in his drug
regimen," she said. "To find out it was just blew
me away."

In retrospect, there were other signs. A former football
player, BMX bike racer and baseball catcher, Johnny had
become too tired to participate. He spent so much time
sitting on his bed that his hair left a dark mark on the
wall.

He had been using heroin for almost a year.

Rehab, then relapse

Johnny immediately went into rehab. In two weeks at one
facility, he left without permission four times.

Each time, Cathy Auer took him back. But, she quickly
decided, she had to get him out of Milwaukie. Just before
Christmas, she sent him to live with his grandmother in a
small California town. There, she figured, he couldn't
find heroin.

She was right. He started drinking.

Disgusted, his grandmother sent Johnny home after two
months. Like a lot of addicts, he quickly fell into the
irresistible, old routine.

"Whenever Cameron (Lee, Johnny's supplier) was
out, I knew I could get it," Johnny says. "It was
just a phone call away."

He liked the sense of release. "How everything just
goes away. All the feeling and all the pain and stuff."
It was a kind of peace that would be hard for Johnny to give
up.

Funeral of a friend

Three weeks after nearly dying in March, Johnny attended the
funeral of a friend who died from a morphine overdose.

The service was tough, he says. He hugged a former drug
buddy who had been through rehab twice for heroin.

"There were so many kids there," Cathy Auer said.

The day of the burial was even harder.

"I woke up depressed," Johnny says. He
couldn't go to school. He fixated on the time, 9 a.m.,
his friend would be buried. He stayed home and cried.

Over the following weeks, Johnny stuck to a mundane routine:
classes at New Urban High School, then therapy three times a
week. No more skipping class. No heroin. His mom picked him
up after rehab, and the two headed home for dinner and their
favorite TV show, "Two and a Half Men."

Johnny says he's gotten past the constant craving for
heroin. But he doesn't like talking about how the drug
made him feel, he says. It might make him want to use again.

Instead, he talks about a better life. College, two kids.
Maybe a mansion and a career in the NFL, he jokes.

Heroin, he says, will just be a "stupid decision when I
was a kid."

Cathy Auer hopes so. With school out now, she worries more.

Johnny has started complaining about going to therapy. In a
meeting last week, his counselor said he had to get serious
or go to a residential program. Johnny left the meeting in
tears, his mom says.

Cathy Auer knows life could change in an instant. She knows
she can't trust Johnny, as convincing as he can be, or
control his life.

Oregon fears heroin is tempting more kids

FACTBOX

Cathy Auer woke up late that Saturday morning in March. The
house seemed quiet, so she padded down the hall to check on
her youngest son, a freshman at Milwaukie High School, and
opened his door to a horrifying scene: His slight,
15-year-old frame crumpled like a dead body. His skin gray.
Saliva seeping from his mouth and nose. Purple smudges
around his lips.

She tried to sit him up, but his slack body was too heavy.
She cursed. She yelled for her boyfriend to call 9-1-1.

Like a lot of people who die from heroin overdoses, Johnny
Auer misgauged his tolerance. But unlike an 18-year-old Reed
College student who overdosed in April -- and the more than
100 Oregonians expected to die this year -- Johnny Auer
survived.

In the wake of Oregon's crackdown on methamphetamine,
police say, heroin has become a cheaper, more plentiful
alternative, especially for kids tempted to venture beyond
marijuana and alcohol.

One dose costs as little as $15.

It's hard to say where this resurgence of heroin will
lead. Heroin deaths remain far below the highs of the late
1990s, but the trends are ominous. Heroin used alone or in
combination with other drugs now kills more Oregonians than
meth and cocaine combined. Last year, 115 people died from
heroin overdoses, up 29 percent from the year before.

State medical examiner Dr. Karen Gunson expects the
"very alarming" number of heroin deaths to
continue to rise this year. Police and educators warn
parents that vulnerable kids, kids who are withdrawing from
sports or school or families, kids who are starting to lie
or steal -- kids like Johnny -- could be falling into a
heroin habit.

Johnny first tried heroin in the eighth grade.

"What the heck"

Early in middle school, Johnny competed in three sports. He
hung out with friends, got good grades and tried pot. He
drank some on the weekends but says it made him sick.

Then a friend told him about trying heroin at an
eighth-grade party. It was good, he told Johnny, who had
started smoking marijuana daily. You should try it. A couple
of days later, the two eighth-graders met up at Ardenwald
Elementary School, near Johnny's house in Milwaukie.

His friend brought heroin.

Johnny says he didn't think twice. Not about his dad.
Not about his sister, though both have fought drug problems.

"Just what the heck, you know?"

Ducking down some basement steps outside the school, his
friend pulled a ball of black tar heroin from a tiny
balloon. They burned it on a piece of tinfoil and inhaled
the smoke through small straws.

For Johnny, heroin did what getting high always had, took
him away from problems. For a week, Johnny smoked whenever
his friend had the drug. Soon, he started wanting it
everyday.

A year of deceit

Johnny, now a waifish 15-year-old with a charmer's
grin, says he was hooked within two weeks. "I
didn't want to get addicted," Johnny says. "I
promised myself I wouldn't."

He first bought on his own after two girls at school asked
whether they could buy pot through him.

"I jacked 'em for $20," he said.

As the months fell away, Johnny starting injecting heroin to
get a stronger high and fell into a quick spiral of
addiction, theft and deceit.

He met dealers at a burrito joint by his house, at Clackamas
Town Center, behind the Safeway. Police believe the same
dealers who sold to Johnny and his friend also sold heroin
in Gladstone, Clackamas, Happy Valley and Oregon City.

Cathy Auer began noticing her son getting pale. Always small
at 5 feet 2 and 115 pounds, Johnny started losing weight. He
disappeared into the bathroom for 20 minutes at a time.
Money vanished from his sister's wallet.

One day in November, Auer, who works in a medical billing
office, and her then-boyfriend decided something was wrong.
They barged into the bathroom and found Johnny, at that time
a scant 85 pounds, shooting up.

Auer was shocked.

"I didn't even think heroin would be in his drug
regimen," she said. "To find out it was just blew
me away."

In retrospect, there were other signs. A former football
player, BMX bike racer and baseball catcher, Johnny had
become too tired to participate. He spent so much time
sitting on his bed that his hair left a dark mark on the
wall.

He had been using heroin for almost a year.

Rehab, then relapse

Johnny immediately went into rehab. In two weeks at one
facility, he left without permission four times.

Each time, Cathy Auer took him back. But, she quickly
decided, she had to get him out of Milwaukie. Just before
Christmas, she sent him to live with his grandmother in a
small California town. There, she figured, he couldn't
find heroin.

She was right. He started drinking.

Disgusted, his grandmother sent Johnny home after two
months. Like a lot of addicts, he quickly fell into the
irresistible, old routine.

"Whenever Cameron (Lee, Johnny's supplier) was
out, I knew I could get it," Johnny says. "It was
just a phone call away."

He liked the sense of release. "How everything just
goes away. All the feeling and all the pain and stuff."
It was a kind of peace that would be hard for Johnny to give
up.

Funeral of a friend

Three weeks after nearly dying in March, Johnny attended the
funeral of a friend who died from a morphine overdose.

The service was tough, he says. He hugged a former drug
buddy who had been through rehab twice for heroin.

"There were so many kids there," Cathy Auer said.

The day of the burial was even harder.

"I woke up depressed," Johnny says. He
couldn't go to school. He fixated on the time, 9 a.m.,
his friend would be buried. He stayed home and cried.

Over the following weeks, Johnny stuck to a mundane routine:
classes at New Urban High School, then therapy three times a
week. No more skipping class. No heroin. His mom picked him
up after rehab, and the two headed home for dinner and their
favorite TV show, "Two and a Half Men."

Johnny says he's gotten past the constant craving for
heroin. But he doesn't like talking about how the drug
made him feel, he says. It might make him want to use again.

Instead, he talks about a better life. College, two kids.
Maybe a mansion and a career in the NFL, he jokes.

Heroin, he says, will just be a "stupid decision when I
was a kid."

Cathy Auer hopes so. With school out now, she worries more.

Johnny has started complaining about going to therapy. In a
meeting last week, his counselor said he had to get serious
or go to a residential program. Johnny left the meeting in
tears, his mom says.

Cathy Auer knows life could change in an instant. She knows
she can't trust Johnny, as convincing as he can be, or
control his life.